


hillbilly, illegally bred with dumb jock

by lieu42



Category: Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Tim Drake is Robin, new young justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22615459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieu42/pseuds/lieu42
Summary: Tim's hands went to his throat, resting on top of Conner's. They were warm.'That,' he said, 'was uncalled for.'And then he slammed both feet into Conner's gut and sent him crashing into the opposite wall of the alley.alternatively: conner kent meets tim drake for the first time. they very politely beat each other up. conner sure thinks about tim's gotham accent a lot, considering how much he supposedly hates it. they are idiots and they are in love
Relationships: Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 6
Kudos: 182





	hillbilly, illegally bred with dumb jock

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with another microscopically short fluff fic. it's unedited so let me know if you guys catch any mistakes lol

'Conner Kent?' came a voice from behind Conner.

Conner spun on his heel, panicking - how could anyone know his name here? He'd taken the train into Metropolis from Smallville just to get away from people he knew. Maybe Clark had sent someone. God, that would be embarrassing. He shut his eyes for a second, bracing for a lecture, and then he opened his eyes and blinked in confusion.

'Who the hell are you?' he asked.

It couldn't be Clark after all. This looked nothing like his handiwork. Usually, when Clark sent someone to check up on Conner, it was broad-shouldered, well-muscled, beaming adults who were clearly just League members dressed down. This boy wasn't any of that.

He probably wasn't much taller than five foot but he stood like he was six feet tall, chin raised and shoulders back and hands in his pockets. He was young, too - clear-faced, dark hair in his eyes and freckled cheeks. He was wearing some kind of uniform Conner didn't recognise, likely belonging to some sort of posh school. A dark jacket and trousers, crisp white shirt, tie flapping in the wind. Everything Conner wasn't.

'Conner Kent?' said the boy, again. He spoke slowly but clearly, a rich voice dripping with class. Conner couldn't quite place his accent. It was ambiguous enough that it could have been applied anywhere, but it sounded familiar in a way that itched at Conner's mind.

Gotham. He was from Gotham. 

'How do you know my name?' said Conner, standing as tall as he could and folding his arms. Usually, this tactic worked - he could be intimidating when he wanted to be. But the boy just looked at him, an eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Someone bumped into Conner from behind, and he swore and stumbled backwards. He'd forgotten they were still stood on a busy street in Metropolis. He turned back to the boy, fully expecting him to be gone, but he remained. He was smiling in a way that made Conner uncomfortable, some sort of inside joke Conner couldn't quite understand.

'Do you want to take this elsewhere?' he said, in that goddamned, glorious Gotham accent.

'Fine,' said Conner, as bluntly as he could, and the next thing he knew the boy had grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into an alleyway.

He could hear the boy's breathing, fast but even. He shook his sleeve free from the boy's grip and stood up straight. For the first time he wondered if he was in some sort of danger. The alleyway was darker than the street, lined with grubby buildings, the sun not quite stretching its reach. He was strangely intimidated by the boy's silhouette, the way he spoke, the way that nobody knew Conner was here and it'd probably be days before they found him when something happened. If something happened.

'Terribly sorry to spring that on you,' said the boy, shaking a wrinkle from his sleeve, 'but this is actually fairly urgent.'

'What's urgent?' said Conner.

'Titans business. you're required. I won't throw around codenames where we could be heard, but you know what I mean.'

'Who are you, then?' Conner could feel annoyance creeping into his voice. 'You're not one of the Titans.'

'We haven't met, you mean,' said the boy. 'I suppose you could say I'm new.'

'What's your name?' said Conner, suspiciously.

'I -' the boy paused for a minute, 'I suppose you could call me Tim.'

There was silence for a second.

'I know it's a total knob name,' said Tim, quietly, 'and I am asking you not to comment on it.'

Conner decided to change the subject. 'And how do I know I can trust you?' he said, taking a step towards Tim. Tim did not retreat, but Conner saw him glance up, and there was something in his eyes that had not been there before. Something that made Conner nervous.

'Let's keep this civil, please,' Tim said. Conner grabbed his collar and slammed him against the wall.

He'd expected Tim to fight back immediately, but he didn't. He was lighter than Conner had expected, feet dangling neatly a few inches above the ground. His eyes were very blue, Conner noticed, and there was a cut on his cheekbone that looked fresh. His hands went to his throat, resting on top of Conner's. They were warm.

'That,' he said, 'was uncalled for.'

And then he slammed both feet into Conner's gut and sent him crashing into the opposite wall of the alley.

'This is why you don't act like a dick to guys you just met,' he called, adjusting his tie and adopting a fighting stance. Conner picked himself up, slowly. The knee of his jeans was ripped.

'I'll be sure to keep that in mind,' he said, drily, and then he slam-tackled Tim into the ground.

They rolled over and over in an ungrateful heap, Conner keeping Tim pinned as best he could. He paused, both hands pressed on Tim's chest. There was the distinct sound of fabric ripping, and Conner noticed that Tim's jacket had torn in the shoulder.

'Do you know how much that cost?' he said, reproachfully.

'I have to admit, it wasn't the first thing that came to mind.'

'More than your parents make in a year, probably,' said Tim. Conner lifted some of the pressure of the chokehold in order to slap him.

'I can tell we're going to be the best of friends,' said Tim, wincing. Conner shoved him against the ground again for good measure then stood up, cracking his knuckles.

Tim took off the jacket and tossed it on the ground, but not before Conner caught a brief glimpse of the emblem.

'You're a long way from Gotham Academy,' he said.

Tim blinked, rolling up his shirtsleeves. 'Wow, you're smarter than you look.'

'How do I look, exactly?' said Conner.

'Hillbilly, illegally bred with dumb jock.'

'You are _such_ an asshole,' said Conner. Tim grinned.

Conner took a few steps forwards and hopped into the air, adjusting his posture until he was hovering a few metres above Tim. He watched his face change from momentarily wowed back to nonchalant.

'You can fly?' he said.

Conner said, 'Was that not in my file when you stalked me?'

Tim shrugged. 'Having a flying ability does not equate to flying. I see you've inherited Clark's brain cells, or lack thereof.'

Conner choked out a surprised laugh. 'He's got super-hearing, you know. He'll probably get over here in nought point two seconds and pummel you into the ground.'

'You forgot the bit where he apologises profusely and drives me to the hospital,' said Tim, glancing up at Conner. Conner couldn't help but laugh.

'Are we still fighting?' he said. 'You don't seem to be trying very hard.'

'You're a bit out of my range. I'm waiting for you to get a little closer.'

'Is this alright?' said Conner, and slammed both feet into Tim's chest. He stumbled backwards, and Conner paused for a moment, wondering if he'd gone too far. Then Tim darted forwards and grabbed Conner's legs at the knees, hauling himself upwards and slamming the heel of his hand into Conner's chin.

Conner's head snapped backwards. The two of them crashed ungracefully into the ground, skidding across the tarmac. Tim reached out to strike Conner's face but Conner grabbed his wrist, wincing.

'Oh,' said Tim, pausing. 'Are you alright?' He rolled off of Conner and lay on the tarmac, breathing heavily and glancing over at Conner.

'Fine, thanks,' said Conner. He sat up gingerly and looked at his shirt. It had impressive tears across the back and shoulders, his Superboy t-shirt visible underneath in flashes. 'Fuck,' he said. 'Clark's going to kill me.'

Tim grimaced. 'I'd apologise,' he said, standing up, 'but I haven't quite forgiven you for my jacket. I'm going to have to ask Bruce for another one.'

'Bruce?' said Conner, and Tim froze for a moment.

'He's my stepdad,' he said, relaxing again, falling back into that easy Gotham drawl. 'He's paying my way through school.'

'Liar,' said Conner. 'You meant Bruce Wayne.'

God, he hoped he was right.

And for a second, he wondered if Tim really had been telling the truth. He paused, but then Tim nodded once and said, 'You got me.'

'Who are you, then?' said Conner, taking a step closer. 'If you're friendly with Bruce Wayne, and part of the Titans?'

Tim gestured at him to come closer. He did. Tim stood on tiptoe, breath hot on Conner's neck, and whispered, 'I'm Robin.'

'Robin?' said Conner, taking a step backwards.

'Code names, dickhead!' said Tim - Robin? Was he Robin?

'But - I mean, you can't be,' said Conner, touching the side of his neck. 'Robin's dead.'

The new Robin shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 'No,' he said. ' _Jason Todd_ is dead.'


End file.
